


repeat to yourself that they're not really gone

by thequeenofokay



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-10 02:07:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5564902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequeenofokay/pseuds/thequeenofokay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It feels like only a second, compared to the billion he needs with her, and then River leaves. Off to the library. Back soon, she promises, but he knows she won’t be and by now she must be almost certain.</p>
<p>// four times the doctor loses river.</p>
            </blockquote>





	repeat to yourself that they're not really gone

**Author's Note:**

> \+ [[shrug emoji]] this is weird but i'm avoiding revision like the plague and i'm v emotional over That christmas special.
> 
> \+ why write something happy when you can write something sad.
> 
> \+ title n lil excerpt from "how to never stop being sad" by dandelion hands.

 

_repeat to yourself that they’re not really gone_  
 _time has proven that fooling yourself into believing_  
 _a lie is the most effective way to deal with_  
 _things you have no control over_

 

 

 

 

**one.**

It’s a strange feeling. Not one he’s ever felt before. To watch your wife die with nothing you can do, the very first time you meet her.

At first it doesn’t hit him. He pushes it to the back of his mind with the memory that he had saved all those people in the library. But it bleeds through, and he finds himself staring at the Tardis console, shaking slightly.

He doesn’t imagine himself to be the marrying type—not anymore, and not properly at least. He tells himself maybe it isn’t all it seems to console himself, but her diary was thick with stories of _them_ , and the way she looked at him is something that he can only think of as impossible. So sad and so tired and so devoted and so _old_. It’s a look he knows too well.

It terrifies him.

He doesn’t notice Donna entering the console room—he’s too caught in his own thoughts, and he starts slightly when she asks, ‘Are you okay?’

‘I told you,’ he says. ‘I’m alright. Totally fine.’

‘It’s just,’ she says, ‘that woman. Did she tell you who she was?’

‘Someone important,’ he tells her, because there’s nothing else to say until he’s lived it.

 

**two.**

After Manhattan, she fades out of his life. It’s gradual, but somehow he knew it was coming. The spaces between the days he sees her become further apart and every time he holds tight, yet she still slips away through his fingers. Mostly when he meets her now she is young and doesn’t understand. She doesn’t understand how tight he holds her hand or why he looks so sad every time she leaves.

Then it’s been a century, and he realises he’s never going to see her again. It feels like the universe is trying to tear him apart. First it takes Amy and Rory for him, and now River.

He didn’t even get a _goodbye_.

The injustice of the whole thing burns. He’s a _god_ , and he cannot even keep the people who matter most to him safe. It’s not _fair._

In some kind of strange punishment to the universe, he is ruthless. He _burns_ those who stand against them.

And when he stops, and looks at what he’s done—what he’s done in their names, in River’s name—then he is cold. Cold and alone, _so alone_ , the lonely old man living on a cloud.

 

**three.**

At first, Clara’s far too exhausted from the trauma of his time stream, and they are far too busy anyway for her to ask about _River_. The Doctor’s glad.

But Clara—bless her, it’s what he loves about her really—she can never let something lie. She has that insatiable curiosity and refuses to let it slide. She doesn’t push, not at first, but gently prods and pries, trying to pull out little snippets of information on the woman who married the Doctor.

She picks the Gardens of Ashell to push harder. They sit, side by side, on a bench that looks out over the golden gardens, and she takes his hand carefully. ‘Tell me about her,’ she says. ‘Please.’

He looks across at her, trying to pretend he has no idea who she means like maybe it’ll make her give up. ‘About who?’ he asks.

‘Your wife.’

‘Which one?’ he asks, still feigning ignorance. ‘Marilyn? That’s a good story, Clara—’

‘No,’ she cuts him off. She’s giving him the ridiculously big, sad eyes again. ‘River. Tell me about her.’

He sighs. ‘What is there to tell?’ he asks. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘She was your wife,’ Clara says, ‘yes?’

‘Yes,’ he confirms. Every word, every single one stings.

‘You loved her.’ It’s not a question, and the Doctor hates himself for being glad of that. He must react, despite how hard he tries not to, because she nods and carries on. ‘How did you meet her?’

‘She died,’ he says.

Clara swallows, and nods. ‘And then?’

‘She was the daughter of some friends,’ he says. ‘Brilliant, beautiful—you’ve seen her. Tried to kill me, saved me more times than I could count, married me in an alternate reality to save the universe. You know how it is.’ He gives her a little elbow and a tiny smile.

She just nods and gives her hand a little squeeze, waiting.

‘And then I… lost her,’ he continues. ‘It was my fault. Mine. She died for me.’

‘Doctor,’ she says, and her voice is quiet in a way that somehow scares him.  ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Yes,’ he says, ‘yes, I…’ He takes a deep, shuddering breath and stands suddenly. ‘We should go,’ he decides, pulling her up with him. ‘Time to go.’

 

**four.**

Twenty four years pass. It feels like only a second, compared to the billion he needs with her, and then River leaves. Off to the library. _Back soon_ , she promises, but he knows she won’t be and by now she must be almost certain.

For a hundred years, he lies in the bed they shared together in their house on Durrilium, unable to bring himself to move. Waiting for her to return. He doesn’t know how much longer it takes for him to get down the stairs, out the back door, into the Tardis.

His blue box should feel like coming home, but there is something missing now, and they both know it. They have both lost someone.

He sits by the console and says, ‘Take me where I need to go.’ His voice is hoarse, unused in so long. The Tardis comes to life around him, and he feels a deep ache as they leave Durrilium behind.

First, the Tardis shows him the stars. They sit above a supernova until _everything_ is less heavy on his shoulders, and then she takes him away again.

She spits him out on a planet in the Andromeda galaxy, outside a little café. ‘Why here?’ he asks the Tardis, and then turning around, he sees. One of the few people left in the universe who knows him, as much as he might resent it.

Missy waves. ‘You,’ she shouts, beckoning him over. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’m not entirely sure,’ he says, sitting stiffly opposite her.

She reaches across the table and slaps her hands against his cheek, frowning deeply. ‘You did something,’ she says. ‘What have you done this time, you _silly_ man?’

‘Nothing,’ he insists.

‘Oh dear,’ Missy says, letting his face go. She frowns an exaggerated, mocking frown. ‘You _didn’t_.’ She sighs when he doesn’t respond. ‘You did. You fell in _love_.’

He huffs angrily, indignant that she would say it like it’s a bad thing. ‘Possibly,’ he concedes.

She laughs. ‘Oh dear—look at you!’ She gestures to him, dejected and broken. ‘Why on earth would you go around doing that? It’s the worst thing in the universe, dear.’

‘She was,’ he begins, unsure as to why he’s having this conversation, ‘special.’

‘Course she was.’ Missy leans back in her seat. ‘They always are. Which one was it? Did I know her?’

‘River Song,’ he says, as grudgingly as possible.

Missy laughs. She reaches across again to pet his cheek. ‘No wonder you’re such a state. She was _something_ , wasn’t she?’

He nods. ‘Something,’ he says. ‘Yes.’

She gives him a shrug of faux-sympathy. ‘Well,’ she says. ‘You want my advice?’

‘No,’ he says firmly, but she ignores him.

‘You’re not going to get over her. It’s _you_. You’ve got hearts soft as candyfloss. Either live with it or do something about it.’ She stands up and pets his head, in a way somewhere between fond and patronising. ‘Or do something _stupid_ to try and cope, if you want. Burn something. A planet, maybe. That could be exciting.’ She pulls her sleeve back and starts tapping at her teleport

‘You’re leaving.’

‘Yes. This conversation is nauseating.’ And she’s gone with a subtle zap.

Slowly, he moves back to the Tardis, as though when he gets there he’ll have to face whatever comes next. In the console room, leaning against the rail, he is alone again. He tries to tell himself that maybe alone is good. Maybe alone is what he needs. He looks up, through the silence, and knows it’s not.

‘What do you expect me to do without her?’ he whispers to the universe, like maybe, maybe it will take pity and give her back.

**Author's Note:**

> \+ @theshelbywyatt on tumblr


End file.
